Murder on a Silver Platter (A Red Carpet Catering Mystery Book 1) (5 page)

Penelope brushed the screen with her finger. “That’s her,” she said, pointing to a picture halfway down the article. It was a school picture of Holly, smiling thinly in front of a mottled blue backdrop.

“Pretty girl, so young,” Arlena said.

Penelope looked at the girl’s deep brown eyes and a wave of sadness washed over her. She placed the iPad down on the counter and took a breath, fighting a rush of unexpected tears.

Arlena rubbed her shoulders. “Hey, it’s going to be all right,” she said softly.

“I’m sorry. But how could someone murder a girl who isn’t even out of high school? What could she have possibly done to deserve that?”

Arlena shook her head and rubbed harder. “It’s been a long day and it’s late. Let’s get some rest.”

Penelope nodded and tapped the power button on her tablet, darkening the screen.

Penelope was in the middle of a dream. For some reason Sam Cavanaugh was questioning her about her crab dip, dressed as a policeman. A loud crash jerked her awake and she sat straight up in bed. She held her breath, listening intently for more noises. She heard rustling and footsteps downstairs and decided it was coming from the kitchen.

“What the hell?” she whispered, slipping quietly out of bed. She was wearing pink and green plaid pajama bottoms and a tight pink t-shirt with green stars on it. Her stomach did a flip when she remembered she hadn’t set the security alarm before heading up to bed. She pictured the scene from earlier, Arlena waving goodbye to Sam at the kitchen door with the disabled alarm pad next to it, the word DISENGAGED on the touch screen. She wondered if Arlena had remembered to arm the system before she’d gone to bed.

Maybe Arlena was sleepwalking. Or maybe Sam was back to do some more workouts with Arlena. A crash from a pan landing on the kitchen floor sent goose bumps down her arms. She knew Arlena wouldn’t be cooking anything at one in the morning. She had a rule about not eating anything after eight o’clock. What was Zazoo doing? Normally he’d be barking his head off. Arlena must have him locked up in her room on the other side of the house.

Penelope went out into the hallway and crept down the staircase.

She peered around the corner into the hallway and saw a shadow move across the kitchen floor. There was definitely a man moving around in there. Maybe Sam had decided to come back and spend the night after all.

She heard the flick of a lighter and then smelled cigarette smoke. Nope, it definitely was not Sam, Mr. My-Body-is-a-Temple. No way would he be smoking, especially not in front of Arlena, who hated cigarettes more than she hated cellulite.

Penelope tiptoed on her bare feet to the hall closet and opened it, looking for something to protect herself with. The closet was full of designer coats. Not much protection there. She looked up at the shelf over the coasts and saw the rim of a tennis racket sticking out.

“Better than nothing,” she murmured. She grasped the racket in both hands and headed back towards the kitchen, wrinkling her nose at the cigarette smoke. She felt for her cell phone in her back pocket, then remembered she was wearing pajamas and her phone was charging up next to Arlena’s phone and iPad on the kitchen counter.

Wonderful place for it to be right now
. There was no landline in the house. Neither she nor Arlena were home often enough to justify having a house phone. Arlena could be gone for weeks at a time depending on her filming schedule.

She came to the left-hand doorway of the kitchen and peeked inside. A taller than average man was standing in front of the open refrigerator, eyeing the contents, as if contemplating making a sandwich. He wore a knit hat and a bulky plaid coat with a turned-up collar that hid his face from her view, faded skinny jeans and big black work boots. A path of melted snow trailed behind him from the kitchen door. A cigarette dangled between two of the fingers that were propped on top of the refrigerator door.

Zazoo sat on his bed, eyeing the man at the refrigerator and chewing greedily on a turkey hot dog that clearly had been used to buy his silence.

Traitor
. Penelope rolled her eyes at their faithful watchdog.

Just then Penelope saw Arlena from the opposite doorway to the kitchen. She was looking at the man from behind also, sleepy fury etched on her face. She held a large red rubber band in her hands, one of the resistance bands from the workout room. Arlena used the bands to tone and tighten but right now she was wielding it like a garrote. Penelope wasn’t sure if it was the intruder or the fact that he was smoking in her house, but she had never seen Arlena so angry.

The man, making his snack choice, grabbed a container of leftover turkey chili and a beer from the refrigerator. Still out of sight, Penelope motioned to Arlena, who finally realized she had been lurking in the opposite doorway.

Arlena nodded at Penelope and started doing those hand and finger motions that Penelope saw actors do on cop shows, the ones that she could never figure out the meaning of. Arlena pointed two fingers at her own eyes and then pointed them at Penelope then made a circle with her index finger pointing towards the floor. Penelope nodded. She assumed she was supposed to join Arlena in an ambush. Or maybe Arlena was telling her she had mascara smeared under her eyes. Either way, Arlena began counting silently with her fingers, one, two…

On three they rushed into the kitchen. Penelope smashed the tennis racket down on top of the man’s head and Arlena jumped up, attempting to lasso him with her exercise band. It must have been her first time trying this particular move, because she only managed to snag the hat off of his head and pull his hair.

“Ouch! What the hell?” he said, spinning around, his hat falling to the floor.

“Max,” Arlena yelled. “You little shit! You scared the hell out of us. And why are you smoking in here?”

“I thought you were out of town. What are you doing here?”

“I live here. Unlike you.” She pointed to the sink and Max Madison, Arlena’s half-brother, went over and ran his cigarette under a stream of water. He threw it into the trash can under the sink.

“I know you live here. Aren’t you filming?”

Penelope dropped the tennis racket to the floor. “I’m going back to bed.”

“Max, apologize to Penelope,” Arlena shouted.

“Sorry, Pen.” Max flashed his perfectly shaped dimples. He was tall and dark like Arlena, but had sharp blue eyes with long black lashes. He was outrageously handsome and he knew it. The Madisons had clearly won the genetic lottery.

Penelope sighed and headed back upstairs. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

Chapter 7

Penelope was so exhausted when the alarm went off a few hours later that she didn’t believe it could possibly be the next morning. She stumbled into the bathroom and turned her shower on, nudging the knob to make the water as hot as she could stand. She stood under the stream for an extra five minutes, laying out the upcoming day in her mind, making mental notes and lists of things to do when she got to work. By the time she dried off, swiped some mascara onto her lashes and glossed her lips, she began to feel human again. She pulled on a pair of skinny jeans and a camel-colored knit sweater and headed downstairs, not quite bouncing down the steps but not dragging either.

She slipped out of the kitchen door, remembering to arm the security system before she left. Zazoo must have gone into Arlena’s room to sleep. His bed was empty except for a stuffed hot dog chew toy.

She had no idea where Max ended up. He usually crashed in one of the spare rooms upstairs when he was in town. He was one of those people who always left everything a shade out of order behind him, but he was a nice guy and a good brother to Arlena.

Arlena and Max hadn’t grown up together and had only become close as adults. Their father was screen legend Randall Madison who had been acting in movies since before they were born. Randall had been married and divorced numerous times, and Max and Arlena were just two of his many children. Arlena still hadn’t met several of her half-siblings. She told Penelope that whenever her dad began filming a new movie, he’d find a new love of his life. Randall Madison had been married to Arlena’s mother for a brief time, but not long enough for Arlena to remember living with him. Max was the result of a fling Randall had a several years later with a set designer in Tucson.

Penelope’s phone buzzed in her back pocket. She pulled it up to her ear as she looked over the produce invoices lying in front of her on the steel countertop in the kitchen truck.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Penelope, it’s Detective Baglioni.” His voice was warm and smooth. A tingly finger drew a line down Penelope’s spine and she stood up straight.

“Joey…hi,” Penelope said. She turned to lean against the counter and ran a hand through her long blond hair.

“I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time. I’d like to meet with you sometime today. With Miss Madison also. I’d like to ask you both a few more questions concerning the case.”

“Um, sure. We’re on set in downtown South Point. Lunch break is at one, so we could talk after I get everything set up. Arlena should have a minute then too. I’m in the big white tent. You can have lunch with us if you’d like.” Penelope figured she was the only person in the world who was looking forward to a police officer coming to question her.

“That’s nice of you. I’ll see you around one.”

Penelope ended the call and then looked down at her clothes. Luckily her black kitchen apron wasn’t totally smeared with food and her clothes were pretty clean. She decided to head over to the makeup trailer before lunch to see if Kelley could touch her up before Joey arrived. Couldn’t hurt.

Chapter 8

Detective Baglioni pushed himself away from the table and wiped his mouth.

“Very good. Excellent.”

“Thank you. But you only had a salad and some roasted chicken. Can I get you anything else?” Penelope sat across from him at one of the long dining tables under the tent. Many of the cast and crew had already eaten lunch and the tables were mostly empty, only a few of the extras and crew members lingered. Penelope’s staff was consolidating the leftover food and breaking down the steam trays on the service station behind them.

“No, that’s plenty for me.”

“You said on the phone you had more questions about the case?”

“Yes,” Joey said, crumpling his napkin in his fist. He glanced around to see if anyone was within earshot of them, but the remaining diners were farther away, talking with each other or reading script pages. He pulled a small manila envelope out of his coat pocket and handed it to Penelope.

She glanced at him and bent back the metal clasps, lifting up the flap. Inside were several pictures of a beautiful young girl with dark hair and olive skin. Penelope recognized her right away as Holly Anderson.

“These look like headshots,” Penelope said. She placed them down one by one on the table. There were six different poses of her in the photos. Some were just of her face, her head tilted slightly and smiling or looking straight at the camera with a sultry glance. Then there was a bathing suit shot and a shot of her in tight workout shorts and a tank top, looking like a fitness model. In another picture she was dressed like an action heroine or a video game character. She looked beautiful and confident in each picture.

“Holly was an aspiring actress,” Joey said. “She was trying to break into the industry, going on auditions and sending these out.”

“Wow. She was pretty,” Penelope said, feeling the familiar sadness pressing on her chest. “What was she doing on our street that night?”

“That’s what I came to ask you. We found your address on a piece of paper in her pocket. She must have been on her way to see you.”

“Me? Why?”

“Maybe not you. Maybe she was trying to get Arlena’s attention, hoping to meet her to further her career ambitions.”

“But knocking on our door in the middle of the night during a blizzard?”

“I agree the timing doesn’t make sense. Where is Arlena? I didn’t see her sitting with the rest of the diners.”

“Oh, she usually does. She likes to eat with everyone. But she and Sam asked to take lunch in her trailer so they could run some lines before their scene this afternoon.”

“Run lines. Is that what the kids are calling it these days? They looked pretty cozy yesterday at the hospital.”

Penelope blushed and picked up her phone to text Arlena, giving her a warning they were heading her way. “That’s what she said they were doing. I guess we’ll have to go see for ourselves.”

“I guess we will,” Joey said, suppressing a smile.

Penelope thought about what it would be like to run some lines of her own with Joey. Then her pink cheeks turned a deep red and she quickly hopped up from the table. “Let’s go,” she said, busying herself with clearing their lunch trays.

Chapter 9

They heard the yelling from Arlena’s trailer before they got there.

“You bastard! You know how much this means to me,” Arlena shouted.

“But you don’t know what you want…or what being with you means to me,” Sam yelled back.

Joey stopped abruptly and glanced at Penelope, a look of warning on his face. He stepped in front of her, putting his hand on her forearm to stop her. Her skin tingled under his touch. She nudged him with her shoulder and giggled.

“What’s funny? Sounds like a domestic happening in there,” Joey said. “Those two having problems with each other?”

“They’re running lines. They’re a troubled married couple in this movie, remember?”

The yelling stopped and they climbed the little metal staircase to the trailer door. Joey glanced at Penelope and knocked on the door. “Hello? Miss Madison? It’s Detective Baglioni. I’m with Penelope.”

They heard faint male and female mumbling and then a rustling from behind the door.

“Just a minute…”

Penelope looked away, avoiding eye contact with Joey. A few seconds later the door flew open and Arlena stood there, smiling, flushed and beautiful in a tank top and yoga pants, her feet bare.

“Come in,” she said in the sexy version of her voice.

“Thank you. Sorry to intrude,” Joey said, glancing around the trailer. “I know you’re working but we have some new information about the murdered girl. Hello again, Mr. Cavanaugh,” Joey said, nodding to Sam. He was sitting in the middle of Arlena’s white leather couch, his arms stretched open behind him, spanning the entire back of it.

“Detective,” he said. Sam was shirtless and wore tight jeans that rode low on his hips, leaving little to the imagination. He had what they called six-pack abs, but they looked more like a ten or twelve pack. The man didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. Anywhere. And he looked tan, but not too tan, in the middle of New Jersey winter. His blond hair was spiked, like he’d just rolled out of bed, though it probably took a while to make it look like that. Kelley must’ve taken her time to get the artfully tossed, bed-head look for him.

“I’ll get going so you guys can talk,” Sam said.

“No, please stay. Anything the police have to say to me they can say in front of you,” Arlena said.

Penelope wondered again if Sam and Arlena realized they were not in fact legally married to each other. Arlena perched on the arm of the sofa next to Sam, placing her perfectly shaped feet on his muscular thigh.

“As long as it’s okay with you, it’s fine with me,” Joey said. He took the manila envelope he had shown to Penelope and handed it to Arlena. “Look at these photos. We think Holly Anderson was attempting to contact you on the night she was killed.”

“For what reason?” Arlena pulled out the stack of photos and began looking through them.

“That’s what we’re trying to determine. We also found the car service she used to get out to your place. Livery cab left her on your street per her instructions.”

“And the driver left her outside on a freezing night?”

“Seems that way. She told him she lived at your house and that she was your sister.”

Arlena looked up from the photos on her lap and stared at Joey. “Sister?”

“That’s what she said,” Joey said. Penelope sat down in one of the white leather chairs opposite the couch.

“Detective, it’s no secret that my father has many children, but to my knowledge they’ve all been acknowledged and accounted for.”

“I’ve been reading up on your dad,” Joey said, nodding.

Arlena sighed, shaking her head. “My father can be careless in his relationships. But he is also very loving and talented.” Arlena often sounded resigned when she spoke about her father. Penelope knew he was a source of both amazement and embarrassment for her.

“Anything is possible when it comes to Daddy,” she said, shrugging. “I can’t say I’d be shocked if it turns out we were related.”

Sam laid his hand lightly on Arlena’s thigh, gently massaging it. She looked back down at the photos, taking care to study each one before moving on to the next. “She was beautiful.”

The last photo in the stack was the one of her in the superhero outfit, Holly in tight leather shorts and a skimpy tank top. Her long black hair hung in two braids down her back, and her hips were cocked, her thin hand perched on one of them. She had a sexy, slightly threatening look on her face.

“Wait a minute. This is my picture,” Arlena said.

“Your picture? What do you mean?” Joey said.

“My picture. The same exact outfit and pose. Wait, look here.” Arlena grabbed her iPad off of the glass coffee table in front of her. She opened a folder and scrolled through several thumbnail images until she came to the one she was looking for. It was Arlena in the exact same outfit and pose as Holly’s photo. “Look.” She handed the iPad to Joey.

“I can see they’re very similar.”

“Similar? It’s an exact copy. I had that taken when I was up for
Soldier of Fortune
. I didn’t get the part, but I was in the running.”

Joey nodded. “Where was this taken?”

“The photographer’s name is Richard Tangelo. He’s in the city. He’s done lots of shots for me.” Arlena leaned back on the couch.

“Are these published anywhere?”

Arlena thought for a moment and said, “I don’t think so. I have copies and Richard does, and my agent. They get sent out to directors and casting agents all the time, so I guess they could end up anywhere.” She stared at a photo of Holly’s face. “She has Daddy’s eyes. She looks like us, doesn’t she?” She handed the picture to Sam, who nodded.

“Unfortunately, Miss Madison, we have to consider the possibility that Holly Anderson wasn’t the target. That maybe she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And that someone killed her, thinking they were killing you.”

“Kill me? What are you talking about?”

Penelope sat up straighter in her chair and Sam’s hand stopped moving on Arlena’s shoulder.

“We have to consider every aspect of this. This girl thinks that maybe she’s your sister. She finds out where you live and comes to your home, all the way from the city, to talk to you about it. She clearly had ambitions to become an actress, like you. If you were being stalked or someone wanted to hurt you, and they saw Holly, someone very physically similar to you on a dark street outside of your home. They may have killed her by mistake.”

“Do you have any evidence of anything like that happening or are you guessing?” Arlena asked.

“Right now that’s just one possible scenario. You have to admit you’re very much in the public eye and have been for years. Unfortunately, being a celebrity brings with it a certain level of negative attention sometimes from some very unstable people. It’s not uncommon for fans to become fixated.” He shrugged, his suit jacket lifting a bit each time he made a point. “And it’s a bit too coincidental in my opinion that a girl who resembles you gets murdered right outside your property. Add to that your run-in with the golf cart yesterday…I’m not saying you’re definitely the target of a killer, but we have to think seriously about your safety in case you are.”

“Did you say you talked to the cab driver?” Penelope asked.

“He says he dropped her off outside your neighbor’s gate, then he left to pick up another fare. We searched the car but nothing turned up. His next passenger confirmed the timing. Holly lived on the Lower East Side with her parents and two younger brothers. Good girl, good grades. They’d been letting her audition for plays and commercials, supporting her acting ambitions.”

“Parents, as in mother and father? How did she come to think she was Arlena’s sister?” Penelope asked.

“We’re still working on that. She was sixteen and her room was filled with the usual, posters, school collages and pictures. But she had obviously done some research on you and your family.” He nodded at Arlena. “We found hundreds of searches in her computer history for Arlena and Randall Madison, your other siblings and your dad’s various girlfriends. Maybe she was trying to find a link between you and herself or prove something about her past, real or imagined.”

“Who would want to kill me?” Arlena asked quietly.

“Think about it. Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary? Anyone acting strangely?”

Arlena pondered his question for a moment, then shook her head. “Nothing stands out. I’ve been so busy getting ready for this movie I haven’t been out much at all. Just home rehearsing, and my usual routine.”

“Are you sure? No unusual contact from anyone? It doesn’t have to be negative in nature, maybe someone trying to get in touch with you to figure out your routine?” Joey urged.

“You mean like a potential stalker?” Arlena asked, shaking her head. “That would be a nightmare. The only stalker I’ve had any contact with wasn’t stalking me, she was stalking Vance.” She cut her eyes sideways at Sam to judge his reaction, who didn’t seem to have any. He continued to draw light circles with his hand on Arlena’s back.

“Your ex-boyfriend, Vance Reynolds?”

Arlena nodded. “She was arrested once for climbing over the wall of our house in LA. She ran halfway across the lawn before one of Vance’s security guards tackled her. We weren’t even at the house that week. We were off on the boat together.” Again she glanced guiltily at Sam but he had no reaction. Apparently he wasn’t the jealous type.

“Her name is Jocelyn Honeywell.” Arlena swiped the iPad in her lap to life again and tapped on Google, searching for images of Vance’s stalker.

When she handed the iPad to Joey, Penelope saw that over a hundred and fifty images had come up. Most of them were of Vance and Arlena, probably because they had been tagged in the photos.

“Have you had any contact with Jocelyn since her arrest?” Joey asked, swiping through the images.

“None. She probably lost any interest she might have had in me after we split. When we broke up that cleared the way for her to be with him.” Arlena smirked. “So why would she come after me?”

“You can’t know what’s going on in someone’s mind. It’s worth checking out,” Joey said.

“We’re going to have to get to our location soon, Detective,” Sam said, glancing at his Rolex.

“All right. I appreciate your time. All of you,” he said, looking at Penelope. “I’ll keep you updated about any progress. In the meantime, please be careful, Miss Madison. Don’t take any unnecessary chances. And if anyone or anything seems off or you feel threatened, get in touch with us right away.” He stood up and reached out a hand to Arlena, which she gently shook. “Mr. Cavanaugh.” He nodded at Sam.

“Call me Sam.”

“Until next time,” Joey said. “Would you mind walking me out, Penny?”

“Sure,” she said.

“Thank you for lunch,” Joey said as they walked back through the production lot.

“My pleasure. Thanks for filling us in on Holly. I hope you find out who did this soon.”

They passed the catering tent and stopped at Joey’s black sedan in the parking area. Joey took a step closer to Penelope and adjusted his jacket. Penelope shivered in the cold air.

“You have my number, right?”

“I have your card.”

“Do me a favor and put my number in your phone. That way you can call me if anything comes to mind or if you remember anything else that might be helpful.”

“Okay, I’ll do that.”

“Or you can call if you have any questions about anything…about the case.”

Penelope felt like if she said anything else she might begin to ramble. She looked up into his eyes, then looked away quickly, shifting from foot to foot as she shivered in the cold. A smile touched the corners of his mouth.

He bent his head down towards hers and her heart skipped once. She tilted her head slightly, anticipating the brush of his lips, but instead he leaned down and whispered in her ear. “That roasted chicken was amazing. Thank you.” His lips fluttered over her ear and his stubbly cheek brushed lightly against her smooth one as he stood back up. He took a step back towards the car.

Penelope exhaled. “You’re welcome. Thanks for stopping by.”

“I’ll be in touch, Penny Blue,” he said, opening the car door and sliding behind the wheel.

Penelope sat up front in the cab of the kitchen truck which she had fashioned into a mini office. She was trying to forget how good Joey looked and the almost-kiss by focusing on payroll and order sheets. It wasn’t working, but she plowed ahead anyway.

Francis knocked on the glass window. She rolled it down, letting in the bitter air.

“Hey, Francis. What’s up?”

“I wanted to double check on tomorrow’s menu. Italian, right?”

“As requested by Sal. You take lead and make your homemade sauce. Get it started tonight before we wrap so it has time to get really tasty overnight.”

“You got it, Boss.
Viva Italiano
!” He swaggered away, his baggy chef pants and coat draped over his tall frame. Francis was the first chef Penelope had hired for Red Carpet Catering. They’d worked together on a commercial a few years earlier when they were both starting out. He was only nineteen years old then and had amazing energy, always pitching in wherever the crew needed help. And luckily he had the culinary chops too. His food was inspired. Francis was known to go home and bake Italian desserts after a long day of cooking on set and bring them in the next day for the kitchen crew to try. When Penelope asked him to join her crew, he stood up in the little coffee shop they were meeting in and hugged her, lifting her out of her chair.

They’d built the rest of their team thoughtfully through recommendations or previous work contacts. Penelope knew she had a solid team and Francis as her Sous was her right-hand.

The walkie-talkie chirped on the dashboard. “That’s it for today. Everybody go home,” said Sal in his New Jersey growl.

Penelope was so glad they were finished for the day and it was still light outside. She just wanted to go home, enjoy a warm bowl of soup and get into bed. If she was lucky, she might actually get a decent amount of sleep tonight.